


Christmas Party

by lasergirl



Category: Adderly (tv series)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-02
Updated: 2010-04-02
Packaged: 2017-10-08 15:49:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/77234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lasergirl/pseuds/lasergirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I wanted an Adderly story for xmas. Noone could write it except me, and my roomie Jest was so enthusiastic about it that not even 2 hours of sitting waiting for Chinese takeout could dim her (or my) enthusiasm for it.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Christmas Party

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted an Adderly story for xmas. Noone could write it except me, and my roomie Jest was so enthusiastic about it that not even 2 hours of sitting waiting for Chinese takeout could dim her (or my) enthusiasm for it.

Everything was prepared, and Mona was sitting on the couch, nursing her pinched feet and waiting for her party guests to arrive. Christmas fell during the grey period at ISI, where the caseloads were wrapping up and paperwork was being transferred from 'active' storage to 'inactive.' It was a depressing time of year, with the secretary pool working double time to deal with all the paperwork and having to deal with the terrible weather to boot.

Mona thought it was the perfect time for a Christmas party, a chance to get together outside of the office and socialize. There was too much secrecy, too much reluctance in their inter-office relations. That was why she'd sent invitations to all of the departmental secretaries to come to her place for a little get-together, off the record.

At 6 o'clock sharp, she changed from her work clothes into her party dress. It was a red taffeta confection with a sweetheart neckline in front and a sculptured bow behind. She had worn the shoes to a high-school reunion a few years ago. They rubbed on the arches of her feet, but matched the dress so well she couldn't leave them in the back of the closet.

At half past six, Mona plugged in the Christmas tree. It was perfect: a silver tinsel tree decorated with glass balls and tiny clip-on birds her mother had given her. It rotated slowly on the end table, casting glints of coloured light around the room.

At 7 o'clock, she laid the white linen tablecloth down her dining room table. The plan was for each guest to bring a potluck dish to share with everyone. She set out her best (only) china and cutlery, and arranged the napkins in a festive snowflake design. The highlight of her buffet table was the big crystal punch bowl. It was an inheritance from her maternal grandmother, and what other occasion could she use it for? It had a delightful cut-flower pattern all over it, and was considered too cheerful for a funeral. So, out it came, along with the 12 matching glasses and the delicate ladle. Into the bowl went concentrated fruit punch, club soda and pineapple chunks. Beside the bowl went a forty of vodka, half-emptied.

At half past seven, Mona started to realize that her guests weren't on time. Not wanting to cancel, she perched on the arm of her sofa in her pretty party dress, and leafed her way through a paperback novel about spycatchers in Geneva.

At 8 o'clock, Mona kicked off her shoes and padded in stocking feet to the punchbowl where she tipped the half of vodka into the bowl. It didn't even raise a fizz. She scooped a ladelfull into a single cut-flowered glass and took a gulp. She caught a glimpse of herself across the room, in the mantlepiece mirror.

"Merry Christmas, Mona Ellerby," she toasted herself in the mirror surrounded by stubby burned-down candles and bowls of untouched chocolates. "Yet another successful get-together."

She walked slowly around the living room, turning off lights and blowing out candles until she found herself back at the couch, contemplating the dog-eared paperback and the television remote control. There was bound to be something on television on a Wednesday night. Maybe that amusing story about the boy who wanted a b.b. gun for Christmas. It had been in theatres a couple of years ago and was bound to show up on cable sooner or later.

She was reaching for the remote control when the door buzzer sounded. She jumped up and rushed over to the intercom in a rustle of polyester.

"Who is it?" She keyed the button ecstatically.

"Am I too late to the party?" She recognized the voice immediately; it was Adderly. A mix of disappointment and excitement shivered through her.

"Of course not."

The five minutes it took him to catch the elevator to the eighth floor seemed like forever, but at long last there was a tap at the door. It sounded like the toe of a shoe. She opened it.

"Merry Christmas, Mona." Adderly stood there, crisply dressed in a black tuxedo and bowtie, an opera scarf wound around his neck. His overcoat was lightly dusted with snow melting into pinpoints of water. He held out a brown-and-red paper bag that was leaking spots of grease and divine smells. "I brought you something."

"You shouldn't have!" Mona took the bag with glee and ferried it to the buffet spread. "Let me take your coat. You must be freezing!"

"Siberia is freezing. Here, it's just cold." He shrugged off his overcoat and hung it on the coatstand near the door. Then he glanced around the quiet apartment. "Did the party end early?"

"Oh, V.H." Mona pouted. "I don't know. Nobody came. They all got invitations, I made sure of it. I know inter-office mail isn't supposed to be used for personal communications, but I know Edward, the mail guy, and he assured me he'd send them all out for me. I don't know what could have happened."

"Well, it's snowing quite a bit. Maybe no one wanted to drive in this weather." He tried to sound gentle, but Mona could sense he was humouring her. "I put snow chains on, but Greenspan won't listen to me."

Mona shook her head and collapsed into the sofa with a poof of skirting. "I just tried to do something nice this season, you know? Everyone's so stressed out with the file transfers. Miscellaneous Affairs didn't even have a heavy case load this year, but I'm still working overtime to get everything filed. I can't imagine what it's like in the Overseas Office."

Adderly was delving into the bag of Chinese food, extracting wonton soup and egg rolls and fortune cookies and laying them out on the glass-topped coffee table.

"From the looks of things," he said, "You could use a little Christmas cheer. Dig in."

"Have some punch if you want." Mona tucked a paper napkin into her sweetheart neckline and stabbed dejectedly at the wontons with a pair of chopsticks. "No one's going to drink it now." Adderly sniffed at the punch bowl.

"I take that back. All of your Christmas cheer seems to be in this bowl." He poured himself a glass and returned to the sofa where Mona sulked.

"Yeah, well, cheers." Mona raised her glass. "To yet another year of being ignored by everyone else."

"Oh, Mona," Adderly put his arm around her and pulled her into a hug. He smelled faintly of spice and, slightly more overpowering, the smell of fruit punch and vodka. "I prefer to think of it as 'overlooked.' We'll be there when the time comes. Right in the right place."

She shook her head. "What would I do without you?"

"I don't know. Sitting alone, getting drunk and dizzy watching your tree dance around? Instead you get me and a tableful of Chinese food. It's probably not on your Christmas list but I hope it'll do."

Finally, Mona's smile broke through the pout on her lips. "How do you know what I asked for this Christmas?"

He waggled his eyebrows at her and grinned. "Well I can guess you didn't ask for a pony."

"Not this year. When I was little I did. What did you ask for?"

"When I was ten I wanted a b.b. gun." He leaned forward and broke the chopsticks apart between his teeth. "When Santa brought me one, everyone told me I'd shoot my eye out. Little did they know. The following year I won first place in my age division for marksmanship and since then... well. Be careful what you wish for."

"You're right. I'll settle for you tonight, V.H." she drew her feet up underneath her skirts and leaned gently against him. They sat in silence, sipping punch in their seldom-used, flower-cut glass and watched the silver tree spin.

"I'd still like a pony, though."

He ruffled her hair with his gloved hand. "Maybe next year. If you're good."

**END.**  


Questions? Comments? Feedback always appreciated.


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